


Ramble On

by DeanRH



Series: Northern Gospel [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, References to Illness, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Dean talks about having a long-term illness with Castiel.Timestamp for NORTHERN GOSPEL.





	Ramble On

Dean sat in his chair, watching his fishing line in the river.

Just like in a dream he'd had, so long ago.

A twig snapped behind him.

Instead of reaching for his gun, he grinned.

"That's not how you fish in a river," Castiel rumbled at him.

"Heya, Cas," said Dean. "It's not what you use, it's how you do it."

He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Castiel sighed.

"Aw, c'mon," said Dean. "You love me."

"I do," Castiel admitted. "What are you doing out here? Sam's worried."

Dean sighed in his turn and looked back at the river.

"Fishin'," he said stubbornly.

"Dean," said Castiel.

"Man, how  _is_ it the two of you make my name sound like any other word you want?" Dean asked, rubbing at his knees. The denim of his jeans made a little  _zipzip_ noise.

There was a silence only filled with birdsong and the flow of the little river. Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're...embarrassed," said Castiel, matter-of-fact.

Dean stared at him, wondering if he'd read his mind.

"I don't need to read your mind when you wear your heart on your sleeve," said Castiel. 

Dean nodded.

"I, uh," he said. "Why didn't you heal me, Cas? You guys can give us stomach cancer but you can't help me drop a few pounds? Walk again? Get strong?"

Castiel blew out a breath he didn't need to be holding.

"Dean Winchester," he said, "you're  _supposed_ to be fat."

"What?" Dean demanded. 

"Whisky and cheeseburger soup with no exercise does not equal a sixpack, Dean," Castiel intoned. 

"So what, you - you've been keeping me fit?" Dean demanded.

"Yes," said Castiel. "At first, because you were Michael's vessel. Then...for other reasons."

Now it was Cas's turn to look embarrassed and turn away.

"Hey, I work out!" Dean argued. "Fighting monsters is sweaty work! And digging up graves!"

"Not enough to counteract the effects of what you put into your body," Castiel said. "I've cured you of pancreatitis seven times so far."

Dean nearly fell out of his chair.

"You think most humans are capable of drinking  _that much whisky_ and driving? Or fighting? Or doing anything other than passing out in a coma and waking up, if they're lucky, in a hospital bed? Not everyone is an archangel vessel, Dean. Not everyone has an angel as a...friend."

"I'd say we're far past the  _friend_ stage," said Dean. A pang of jealousy suddenly shot through him.

"You do that for Sam, too?" he asked. "That why he's such a moose?"

"Your brother's size and height have nothing to do with me," said Castiel, a very small smirk making itself known in his expression. "It's not my fault you're tragically short."

"Hey!" Dean protested. "I'm tall! I'm  _normal sized._ He's the giant."

"Be that as it may," said Castiel, "no. I have only ever healed Sam."

"Ha," said Dean, proudly.

"Because I didn't need to," Castiel continued. "Your brother takes care of his body. Exercises. Eats well."

Dean's face fell.

"Oh," he said.

"You're forty, Dean," Castiel reminded him. "The metabolism you used to have as a young man -"

"Shut up," said Dean.

Castiel lifted his arms in a shrug.

"My apologies," he said. "You asked."

Dean sighed.

"Well," he said, "despite all that, I sure as hell didn't get fat overnight. Unfit. Not that way, anyhow."

Castiel made a frustrated sound.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Dean, it was the  _medicine_ ," Castiel said. 

"What the hell kind of medicine makes you  _fat?_ " Dean demanded.

"Prednisone," Castiel said. "They call it a deal with the Devil."

Dean smiled at the irony of it.

"The point is, Dean, that you and Sam have never known what it meant to be ill," Castiel said. "The two of you, in all the time I've known you - not even a sniffle! Even Buffy got sick."

"Buffy?" Dean asked, incredulous.

"I know about pop culture," said Cas. "But Dean, this is what happens to normal human beings all the time!"

"I've seen sick people in hospitals!" Dean said. "They're all - skinny. Not huge!"

"It depends on the illness," Castiel said. "There are a lot of things only prednisone can treat. Just because you have a certain worldview doesn't mean the actual world fits into it."

Dean harrumphed and turned back to his fishing rod.

"It's not your  _fault_ , Dean," Castiel said gently. He came forward, and rested his hand on Dean's shoulder. After a moment, he ran it through the very short hair on the back of Dean's head, which Dean leaned into, like a cat. "Any more than it's the fault of other people who get sick."

"I felt  _so useless,_ " Dean said, barely above a whisper. "The whole world was my bedroom, and the couch. Back and forth, for months. All because, what? I had a dream where loving you was more important than my family?"

"Dean, listen to me," said Castiel. "You dreamed of  _a normal life_. Not because you don't love your family - love of family and friends is the very core of you. I can see your soul, and the truth of that."

It was quiet for a while again, Dean reeling from the thought that Castiel could see him naked in a way he could never possibly be naked for anyone else.

"But even Atlas wanted to put the world down once in a while."

"You're right, it's guilt," said Dean. "But it's also  _hard fuckin' work,_ comin' back from somethin' like that. I dunno how anyone manages it, especially if they don't know if they'll come out the other side. I'm - uh."

Dean stared at the water and swallowed.

"You're afraid to hunt," Castiel guessed, and Dean nodded. "In case it happens again."

"Six months is a long time, man," said Dean. "Whole world coulda blown up while I was useless."

Castiel kissed the back of his neck.

"You're not useless," he said. "You weren't useless then. And for other people? Honestly, they get on with life. They write and paint and watch their favorite shows and travel and get frustrated when the coffee is weak. It's all mundane, normal. Humans are incredibly adaptable."

He paused a moment, leaning in.

"And now that you know what it's like," Castiel continued, "maybe you'll take better care of yourself, and think twice about how you view people with disabilities."

"You sayin' you didn't heal me just to teach me a lesson?" Dean asked, closing his eyes and soaking up Castiel's warmth.

"No," rumbled Castiel; Dean could feel his words reverberate through his whole frame. "I really couldn't heal you. There are certain things human beings have to do on their own."

"Okay," Dean sighed. "Okay."

"Okay what?" Castiel asked.

Dean reeled in his line.

"Let's go talk to Sam," he said. "I'm ready to hunt."

And the human walked with his angel toward the bunker, to face the next challenge that came their way.


End file.
